


A Party Without Cake Is Just A Meeting

by DarkmoonSigel



Series: 2014 Advent fics [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannibal and Cooking, Hannibal is Hannibal, M/M, Manipulative Hannibal, Poor Will Graham, Possessive Hannibal, advent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-28 01:04:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2713265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkmoonSigel/pseuds/DarkmoonSigel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Advent fic for sku7314977. Will tries to make Hannibal a pie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Party Without Cake Is Just A Meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sku7314977](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sku7314977/gifts).



> Still taking requests for advent.  
> Title is a quote by Julia Child.

Going to Will’s place was always an undertaking of sorts, given how far away he lived out in the middle of nowhere, but it was a journey that Hannibal gladly made. Any opportunity to observe Will in his natural settings was a faceted gift of insights, one that was rarely given by the private man, and how Hannibal loved to own unique, uncommon things. One day, everything that was Will Graham would belong to Hannibal, made new under his special brand of care and mentoring. 

Will was a man drowning in his own fear. Others kept thinking that they had to save him from it, pull him out from under deep waters of his mind, but not Hannibal. With the design he was pressing into Will slow and sure as an oiled blade between ribs, the man would quit struggling against his personal tides and learn to breathe it all in with his head underwater just fine. The beginning of Will’s full metamorphosis into his true self was nearly upon them, but it was something that could not be rushed, not just yet. Hannibal was a man well versed in patience. He could wait. Will was worth waiting for. 

Until then, Hannibal amused himself by accepting hesitantly given dinner invitations to dine in Wolf Trap at Will Graham’s table with all his many dogs in attendance. At least the canines were well behaved, Hannibal mused as he pulled up to the Virginian farmhouse. It showed its age, but Will kept it in good repair. Ever still that poor boy from the Louisianan bayou deep at heart, Will had a tentative relationship with material possessions, the things he owned tending to be plain in nature and functional, but the things he did own were maintained and well cared for. Yet another thing to free Will from in Hannibal’s mind. He would show Will beauty beyond his imagination, the world brimming with such gifts if one were bold enough to claim them. 

Letting himself in upon receiving no answer after knocking, and Will so rarely remembered to lock his doors, Hannibal found the living room that doubled as the profiler’s bedroom empty except for a few dozing canines. The pack was enjoying the space heater, most of them not even bothering to greet such a familiar presence, though the little dog Hannibal knew as Buster sprang up, already at the doctor’s feet begging for treats. Scratching Buster between his pointed ears, Hannibal heard signs of life coming from the kitchen.  
The scene that greeted the good doctor was horrific in its amount of mess, but that was understandable. Hannibal could make allowances, being an old hand at such things. Very few was up to his skill level, though he had high hopes for Will. He only needed a few years under Hannibal’s tutelage. 

The spray covered the walls, cupboards, the floor, Will, and just about everything else. Nothing was spared, wetness dripping off corners and edges to create new patterns on the floor. Victim still held in hand, Will turned to see his guest staring at the carnage with a slight smile on his normally placid face. The expression spoke volumes to Will though, who sighed and gave up the ghost of this undertaking.

“Damn it. Of course you would show up now.” Will muttered, setting the dearly departed aside, at least what was left of it, on the counter. There was no saving it now, ruined beyond repair. He tried not to cringe as he watched the good doctor scent his kitchen, running a finger through a cooling pool. 

“Sweet potato?” Hannibal said, arching a barely there brow. 

“For a pie.” Will shrugged, glaring at the hand mixer on the counter, the damn thing choosing to expire while in motion. It had effectively emptied the mixing bowl of its contents, painting Will and his kitchen in bright fragrant orange that smelled alluringly of cinnamon, vanilla, and other baking spices.

“And there in lies the real travesty of this unfortunate situation. I have never had sweet potato pie before.” Hannibal chuckled, removing his jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves with a clear intent to clean in mind. 

Though ingrained Southern hospitality left him feeling conflicted about this, Will was grateful for the help. “Too humble in fare for you?” Will said, wishing not for the first time that he was other people. That was not a normal response or even a polite one, especially when his guest was the one cleaning his kitchen. 

“Hardly. I have simply never been offered it before. You should know me well enough by now that I do not discriminate against food. Though I have a love for theatrics and presentation, I am not a picky eater.” Hannibal said in all honesty. Yet another thing Will was bound to discover, the diversity of his palette. 

“You would do well in the South as a Cajun then. We fry up anything that moves down there and is slow enough to catch.” Will snorted, pulling out a pot to boil up some more sweet potatoes. He was willing to give it another go. There was also a certain appeal to being that person who introduced something new to someone like Hannibal. “It is simple enough to make, just a few basic ingredients thrown together.”

“Some of the best things in life are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Your kudos prefer pumpkin to sweet potato. Your comments prefer people.


End file.
